


For Whom the Stars Shine

by der_tanzer



Series: Rapid Eye Movement [1]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: Blindness, Disabled Character, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were together in the dark. Ted was suddenly sure of that. Murray would never go off into the light and leave him alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've Seen the Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for permanent injury and poignant romancing. No death or terminal sorrow.  
> Lots of bits of lyrics borrowed from R.E.M's _You Are the Everything_  
> 

In the middle of the afternoon, Murray came downstairs from his attic workshop and found Ted sitting on the sofa with the TV off. There was a book by his side and that struck Murray as odd. But it wasn’t, really. What was odd was that he hadn’t seen Ted with a book in his hand in weeks. How had he not noticed that before? He stood in the kitchen doorway thinking about it until his lover spoke.

“What are you lurking around in shad—doorways for?”

“Nothing. I just came down to get a glass of water and I didn’t hear the TV. Are you all right?”

“What, because I’m not watching cartoons?” he snapped, then clenched his jaw and tried to calm himself.

“No,” Murray said quietly, walking over to sit beside him. “Because you’re not doing anything. When did you stop reading, Lieutenant? Is something wrong? Are the headaches back?”

“No, no headaches. I was just thinking, that’s all. Baby, let’s go out to dinner tonight. Do you want to?”

“Well, sure,” he said, surprised by the change of subject. “Where do you want to go?”

“The Roadhouse?” Ted suggested. It was pretty well lit and he wouldn’t feel out of place ordering food that he could eat with his hands. And being right on the main drag, he felt pretty safe letting Murray drive.

“Oh, great! I love their onion rings. All that breading—it’s practically a deep-fried onion pastry.”

“Yeah, they’re good all right. And you’re so skinny you can eat all you want,” he teased, tickling Murray’s ribs with sudden good humor.

“For a few more years, maybe. But, Ted, I’m still concerned about you. I hadn’t really put it all together until today, but you haven’t been yourself.”

“How’s that?” he asked. Some of his good humor drained away and he pulled his hand back from where it had rested on Murray’s hip.

“Well, you’ve stopped reading your Westerns, for one thing. You let me drive, you only watch reruns on TV, and right now? You’re wearing mismatched loafers.”

“Shit, I am?”

“One’s black and one’s dark brown.”

“Shit,” Ted said again. “Murray…”

“I’m worried,” he interrupted gently. “Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

Theodore Quinlan was a tough man and not one given to easy demonstrations of emotions. He’d spent two years wooing Murray with angry threats and false arrests before deciding that some sign of affection might work better. All it took was a month of dinners out of town and a weekend in Santa Monica, and suddenly Murray was his. Ted had moved him into the tidy little house on Driftwood Lane six years ago, as soon as the first decent excuse presented itself. He broke his ankle chasing a suspect on foot and Murray was only too happy to stay over and help him out. But Ted’s ankle never did heal properly, and he didn’t regret that it forced him into retirement since it also gained him a permanent companion. 

If he ever thought, during the last eight years, of the dark cloud that hung over his family and might at any time throw a bolt of lightning to burn down his house of dreams, he never let it affect his decisions. But the chickens were home and roosting now and poor Murray was about to pay a heavy price for Ted’s lack of caution.

“Baby…” He took off his glasses—he still wasn’t used to wearing them; he probably never would be—and rubbed his eyes.

“Ted? Is it your eyes, honey? Do you need new glasses already?”

“I don’t think so. Murray, I’m a selfish old bastard.”

“Yeah, so?” he asked, half joking.

“I was already almost sixty when we got together or I never would have risked it,” he replied obscurely. “I thought it was safe.”

“I always feel safe with you,” Murray said, sliding closer and picking up one broad, work-worn hand. He knew he was missing the point, but until Ted gave him some more clues he would just have to work with what he had.

“You are. For now, at least.”

“You’re not going to turn into a werewolf, are you? Seriously, Lieutenant, you’re scaring me. Why won’t we always be safe together?”

“We will. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m doing this all wrong.”

“Then just take a minute, calm down, and start at the beginning. Tell me what’s bothering you so I can help.”

“It’s not that simple, baby.” But he still gripped Murray’s hand in both of his, making it clear that he didn’t want to let go, no matter how badly he might express himself in words. “There’s a thing that runs in my dad’s family. Some kind of genetic disease that eats up their optic nerves. I don’t know much about it—we ain’t the kind of people to go to a lot of specialists and study up on what we can’t fix—but I know not everyone gets it. My dad had it and so did one of his brothers, but his sisters didn’t. Their old man didn’t, but one of his brothers did, and two of his brother’s kids. One of the sister’s kids, too. I guess it’s kind of hit and miss. But they all had symptoms around the age of fifty, so when I got to fifty-five, I figured I was safe.”

“And now?” Murray asked, his voice trembling.

“Now I think I’m going blind.” 

Murray cocked his head as if he’d misunderstood, but the way the muscles in his face were working, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he choked for words, told Quinlan that he understood just fine. He took a second to be grateful that he could still see Murray’s face that well, and then squeezed the slender hand hard.

“First it was just a little blurry, and then I couldn’t see more than forty or fifty feet away, and now—now it’s starting to get dark. When it happened to Dad, it took about a year. I figure at the rate I’m going, I’ve got a couple months left.”

“Ted, no,” Murray gasped, and for one horrified second Quinlan was sure he would jerk his hand away. He would understand, but it would also be completely devastating.

“I’m sorry, kid. I really thought I’d dodged the bullet. If I’d known it’d be like this, I never would’ve gotten you involved. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Murray said again, his voice stronger now. “No, Ted, I love you. Whatever happens, I love you and I’m glad I’m here.”

“You might not feel that way when I can’t do anything for myself. My mom used to pick out Dad’s clothes, button his shirts for him, tie his shoes, brush his hair—he just sat in a chair all day, facing the window and waiting for someone to come read the paper to him.”

“It won’t be like that, Lieutenant,” he pleaded, falling back on Ted’s authority in his panic. “I promise you it won’t. We—we’ll see a doctor first thing in the morning, I have a friend who can pull some strings, and maybe there’s a treatment. Your dad—that was a long time ago, right? Maybe they can at least arrest the progress. And you won’t ever be dependent. That’s not your style and you know it.”

“How am I gonna not be dependent when I’m blind as a fucking bat?” Quinlan asked. The words were neither angry nor rhetorical and Murray had to think it over.

“You won’t need me to dress you, Ted. You don’t have to look to button your shirt, and with just a little organization, we can make sure your shoes match. It’s—it’s just a matter of—of organization.”

“Organization? You think I won’t need to see if I just, what, know where things are?”

“Well, yes, I think that’s how it’s done,” Murray ventured hopefully.

“Shit. Murray, sweetheart, you don’t need to go through this. You should go back to your friends and—and…”

“Shut up,” he said gently and drew his hand away. Ted whimpered without hearing himself, stunned to senselessness by Murray’s sudden rejection. Then those impossibly long arms were wrapped around him, squeezing him close. He hadn’t seen Murray start to move and was ridiculously glad to know that not all the surprises would be bad. “We’ve been together too long for you to believe I’d do that. We’ll see a doctor, get a referral to a specialist, and do everything we can. It’ll be okay, Lieutenant.”

“Sure it will,” Ted agreed with no trace of sarcasm. He really, really wanted to believe it would be. “In the meantime, do you still want to go to the Roadhouse? Some onion rings might cheer you up.”

“Only if you want to. I can make us something if you’d rather stay home. I mean, if you don’t want to go out…”

“It was my idea, remember? I’d like to go out while I can still see where I’m going. And watch your eyes roll back like you’re about to come when you eat those onion rings. Maybe you could lick your fingers, if you feel like it.”

“Absolutely. But don’t resign yourself just yet, okay? If you haven’t seen a doctor, you don’t really _know_ anything.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed, albeit reluctantly. He’d spent months getting used to the idea of losing his sight, and there wasn’t anything Murray could think up in ten minutes that would change his mind. “Still, when we get home, I want to fuck you with the lights on.”

“I insist on it,” Murray said, grinning bravely. But inside, he felt like the world was ending.

***

The Roadhouse was crowded but the hostess was a friend of Murray’s and, when he asked, she gave them a table in the corner. Quinlan took the seat with his back to the wall, keeping a nervous lookout for whatever was going on around them. Murray suddenly realized that one day he would have to sit right beside Ted, to protect him from the stares of strangers, and maybe to cut his food. Assuming he'd be willing to go out at all when his vision failed completely. _No_ , Murray reminded himself sharply. _No, not when. If. If it failed._ He’d already called a few people for advice and made appointments with two specialists. Tomorrow he would probably call more.

They ordered hamburgers and onion rings, and Murray watched the cautious way that Ted moved, subtly touching everything to be sure what size and shape it was before picking it up. Murray couldn’t understand how he’d missed this before. Now that he knew, it was so obvious he wondered how it was possible that nobody had noticed and pointed it out to him. Already Ted’s fingers were learning to be sensitive, light and questing where they had always been firm and sure. A lump rose in Murray’s throat and he swallowed it down with a mouthful of root beer.

They talked about minor things—Murray’s work and the bits of gossip Ted picked up from his friends who were still on the force—and every time Murray cleared his throat to bring up more important matters, Ted interrupted with a new subject. Finally, he got the message and just ate his onion rings, listening patiently as his lover rambled. A few people dropped by their table to say hello, and Ted, who had never liked being bothered while he ate, greeted them with enthusiasm. Murray wondered if that was because he was genuinely glad to see friendly faces while he still could, or if he merely welcomed the excuse to dominate the conversation and keep it trivial. Not that it made much difference, but Murray hoped it was the first. He hoped Ted liked these people enough to take good memories from their brief encounters. For his own part, he had no urge to push the matter. The best time to get the truth from his normally taciturn lover was to have the conversation after sex. Later tonight, when Ted was satisfied and still in the mood to share himself with Murray, he would be more likely to discuss the future.

***

Quinlan took the first shower and went to bed, turning on a _CHiPs_ rerun so it wouldn’t matter if he could see it or not. They were all pretty much the same. He took off his glasses and closed his eyes, trying to imagine what his life would be like when he couldn’t open them again. Murray had big dreams of a cure, or at least a treatment that would halt the advance of the disease, but Ted held no such illusions. He’d seen it happen too many times. One of his nephews was showing signs at the age of forty, and he’d already exhausted all the local experts. He hadn’t told Murray that yet, but he supposed he would have to eventually. The nephew was learning Braille so he could continue his job uninterrupted, and teaching it to his own kids in case they should need it one day. Ted was terribly glad he’d never had children. It was the one thing he had to be grateful for in this whole mess.

No, he had two things. He still had Murray. Who took way too long in the shower but was always there for him, no matter what.

“Murray,” he whispered, and was surprised to get an answer. The light-footed man was coming into the bedroom as he spoke, wrapped in his old brown robe, rubbing his shaggy hair with a towel.

“What is it, hon? Can I get you something?”

“No,” he said quickly, blushing in shame at his weakness. “What took you so long?”

“Nothing. I wasn’t any longer than usual, I don’t think. I mean, I wanted to be prepared for whatever you have in mind.” Murray hung the damp towel over a chair and unbelted his robe, leaving it on the foot of the bed.

“You always know what I want.”

“Not always. But I _am_ always open to finding out.”

“I just want you,” Ted whispered, reaching out almost, but not quite, blindly. Murray’s face became clearer as he got closer, but Ted wasn’t satisfied until he had hold of the slender hand. Those delicate fingers had never felt stronger than they did now that Ted had lost all confidence in himself. Murray held on as he climbed into bed and lay down, pressing his body close. Ted wrapped his arms around him and held on tight, rolling him onto his back, rocking gently against him as they both grew hard.

“You won’t leave me?” he whispered, hating how weak it sounded and still needing to know.

“Never,” Murray answered with the confidence of a man who had all the options. “I love you, remember?” He wrapped his legs around Ted’s muscular hips and arched up into him, desperate to demonstrate the depth of his love, the strength of his commitment.

“Oh, baby,” he sighed, surprised to find himself near tears.

“You want me to turn over?” Murray asked, softly biting his neck.

“Are you kidding? I got the rest of my life to not look at you. Tonight I want to see your face.” But first he detached himself from Murray’s embrace and studied his pale body in the glow of the bedside lamp. Murray saw his expression, both tender and sad, and kept quiet as Ted went over him with gentle hands and hungry kisses.

He ran his tongue lightly across Murray’s nipple, then blew on it to make him flinch twice before licking across his chest to suck the other. He worked down the length of Murray’s torso, kissing and tickling, making him laugh. That silly, unselfconscious giggle was music to his ears, but it stopped abruptly when he sank his teeth into one skinny thigh and sucked hard enough to bruise. Murray gasped in surprise at the sudden, sweet pain, then let his breath out in a moan.

“You like that?” Ted murmured.

“I love when you bite,” he said and grabbed a fistful of Ted’s thinning hair. “Don’t stop just when it’s getting good.”

“You think that’s good?” he asked with a playful growl. “I’ll show you good.”

Murray groaned, pulling his hair eagerly as Ted raised a string of bruises along the insides of both thighs. The groan became a pleading whine when he stopped biting and ran the tip of his tongue up Murray’s shaft and over the head of his cock. Murray thrust helplessly and Ted let him, sucking just enough to coax him on. But as good as it tasted, and sounded, this wasn’t the view Ted really wanted. He wanted to see the pleasure on Murray’s face, shining in his soft, wide eyes. There would be plenty of chances to focus on listening when his sight no longer distracted him. Assuming Murray would still want him when he was blind and helpless.

That thought made him pause, his lips still wrapped around Murray’s shaft, as a little shiver ran through him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, baby,” he said, sitting up and crossing his legs tailor fashion by Murray’s hip. “Nothing’s wrong. I just want to look at you.”

“You should wear your glasses,” Murray said, twisting toward the nightstand to reach them. Ted ran his hand distractedly over his bony frame, from Murray’s flexing shoulder, down his prominent ribs and jutting hip.

“You don’t mind?” he asked, toying almost absently with Murray’s throbbing erection.

“Mind? No, why?” 

“Well, I never let you wear yours. You can’t see shit, either.”

“You want to see my eyes. I don’t mind any way you want to look at me, and if your glasses help, go for it. Besides, when we’re this close, I can see everything I need to.” He sat up and put Ted’s glasses in his hand. Ted put them on and swallowed hard. He’d thought he could see Murray’s eyes before, but now he realized he’d been relying mostly on his memory.

“I’m gonna miss this so much,” he whispered, and the mood was nearly lost.

“Don’t. It’ll be okay, Lieutenant. We’ll see the doctors and get this taken care of. You’re going to be fine. Now do you want to sit here and worry about something that isn’t going to happen, or do you want to fuck me?”

“I guess I better fuck you,” Ted answered, managing a passable leer. Murray bent down and sucked him to full hardness before slicking on the lube and climbing into his lap. Ted started to ask if he was ready, but answered the question with one gently probing finger. “You think of everything.”

“I believe in efficiency,” Murray grinned. He wrapped his arms around Ted’s neck and mounted him swiftly, moaning as he shoved the plump head of his lover’s cock inside. He worked it deeper in short, easy thrusts, pushing as fast as he could without hurting himself. Ted was watching closely and he wouldn’t like it if he thought he saw pain. Murray panted and sighed his pleasure, pushing the invading flesh to its full depth and setting a strong, rocking rhythm that pounded his tender gland without the drawn out thrusts that so excited his lover. He resisted Ted’s hands on his hips, urging him to raise up, to intensify the sensations. Murray was getting what he wanted now. He had something better in mind for Ted.

“Come on, baby, fuck me,” Ted growled, but Murray only laughed through a moan.

“In a minute. First you fuck me.”

Ted shifted his grip a little and helped him rock harder, no longer trying to push him away. Murray groaned louder, his arms tightening around Ted’s neck, his nails biting into the lightly furred skin of his back and shoulders, slamming himself harder, faster, against the solid strength of his lover’s body. Sweat poured down his back, gathered beneath Ted’s palms and ruined his grip. He wrapped one arm instead around Murray’s bony ass and slipped the other hand between them, stroking him to a swift climax as he first whimpered, then howled.

“I love it when you get loud,” Ted murmured, hugging him close. Murray trembled in his arms, gasping for breath and trying not laugh until he was sure it wouldn’t suffocate him.

“With you, I couldn’t hold back if I wanted to,” he said shyly. “And now it’s your turn. What do you want me to do?”

“Grab that pillow,” was the surprising answer, but the way he nodded over Murray’s shoulder explained it. Murray twisted around and snagged the nearest one. Ted folded it in half and eased him back onto it, feeling a twinge of regret as his cock slid free, and enjoying it all the more when he pressed in again. This was better. Propped up on his hands, thrusting slow and easy, withdrawing almost his full length on each thrust to better feel the clinging, velvety flesh, able to look down Murray’s face the whole time. “Open your eyes,” he commanded every time they drifted closed, and Murray obeyed. The last thing he would do was to cheat Ted out of the things he most wanted to see. 

As a result, Murray got to see Ted’s face when he came, biting his lips, eyes squeezed shut for those few seconds but unable to hold back the tears that splashed on the lenses of his glasses. Murray watched small puddles form on the glass and it was all he could do not to take them off and wipe his lover’s eyes. But Ted wouldn’t want to be caught crying. In all the years Murray had known him, he had never once seen him cry. Although he sometimes suspected it had happened when he wasn’t there.

Murray closed his eyes and waited until Ted took off his glasses and lay down upon him, his face pressed to the slender throat. He gasped and choked for a moment, trying to turn away, but Murray’s hands on his back were so kind, so gentle and understanding, that suddenly he was sobbing his heart out. Murray went on holding him, keeping his own body rigidly still as cold tears slipped down his temples. This time it was Ted who must not see him cry.


	2. The Greatest Thing You've Ever Seen

For the next month, Murray took Ted to every specialist he could find—even flying with him to Seattle on a rumor that a researcher up there had something new. But he didn’t, no one did, and every day the world became dimmer and more distant to Ted’s eyes.

He rarely left the house anymore, only going sometimes to the grocery store where he could push the cart while Murray subtly steered it from the front. When friends and acquaintances spoke to him, he either recognized their voices or faked it by letting them lead the conversation. Murray always got him out before he dug himself in too deep, and so far no one else knew. But that couldn’t go on forever. Soon they were going to need help.

On a warm Saturday afternoon in July, Murray drove them over to Lieutenant Markee’s house where Ted liked to sit in the shade of the back patio and drink beer with his ex-colleagues. There were usually two or three other cops, current or retired, on hand and they kept each other up to date on the goings on in King Harbor. But today it was just Ted and Ray Markee, who had been a patrol officer when Lieutenant Quinlan was a name to be feared, and then rose in the ranks to take his place. They were friends now, and telling Ray was the quickest way to get the word to everyone else.

At least everyone in their circle. But there was another circle that mattered, and Murray thought it would be easier if he handled that himself. So he left Ted on Lieutenant Markee’s patio, comfortable in a canvas chair with a beer in his hand, and went down to the pier where he used to make his home.

“Hey, Boz,” Cody called cheerfully from the deck where he and Nick were just sitting down to lunch. “What brings you by?”

“Yeah, and all alone,” Nick added. “We were starting to think Quinlan wasn’t going to let you come over and play with us anymore.”

Murray smiled weakly and boarded the boat before speaking.

“You want a sandwich?” Cody asked. “It’d just take me a minute to—”

“No, thank you. I’m not hungry. Guys…” He sat down on the bench beside Nick and accepted a beer when Cody put it in his hand, though he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

“What’s going on, babe?” Nick asked, suddenly worried. “Where’s Quinlan? You two aren’t fighting again, are you?”

“No, no. Nothing like that,” he said quickly, unable to repress a shudder. Two years ago Murray and Ted had gone through a bad spell where they hadn’t seemed to be able to agree about anything. They’d taken turns storming out and Murray had spent more than one night back in his cot aboard the _Riptide_ , though it was rare for him to be so disloyal as to talk about their problems. Nick and Cody never knew exactly what went wrong, and they never knew how it got fixed. Murray just stopped sleeping over, sounded happier on the phone, and brought Ted to their weekly dinners again. Nothing had ever been said about it, and until he turned up this afternoon, they’d almost forgotten it had happened.

“Murray, buddy, what’s going on?” Cody abandoned his own sandwich and sat down on Murray’s other side, unconsciously wrapping one arm around his shoulders. “Where _is_ Ted?”

“He’s over at Ray’s. Lieutenant Markee’s. There’s something we need to—I need to tell you —there’s something you should know. I thought I’d—I don’t know. It wouldn’t matter if he said it or I did, I’d cry just the same. I don’t want him to see me cry.” He kept his head down, hiding his face, but they both heard his voice crack.

“You’re really scaring me now,” Nick said, turning to him and taking his hands. “What’s going on here? Murray, are you sick? Is that it?”

“No,” he said quickly, raising his head. His wide eyes were bright with unshed tears and he blinked rapidly, holding them back as long as he could. “No, it’s not me. It’s Ted. He’s telling Ray so word will get around on that side, and I thought it would be better if—if I talked to you. He really isn’t sure how people will react and it—I think it scares him.”

“Murray, what _is_ it?” Nick asked again, his grip tightening around the shaking hands. “Is—is he dying?”

“No,” Murray said quietly, “but I’m not sure he wouldn’t prefer it. He’s going blind.”

“What?” Cody cried. He couldn’t have been more surprised if Murray had actually said _yes_. “That can’t be right. Isn’t there something they can do?”

“No. It—it’s genetic. A degenerative condition of the optic nerves. Apparently his family is riddled with it. All the way back, as far as I could trace, his family has had higher than average rates of blindness, but they didn’t understand genetics well enough to really know that it would keep happening. It’s very rare and there’s not much published up to now. We did everything we could, talked to everyone who would see us, but there’s—there’s just nothing to be done.”

“Jesus,” Nick whispered, like a prayer. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Right now he’s spending a lot of time watching TV. Or listening to it. He only wants me to put on sitcom reruns and movies he knows by heart. He—he hates going out, he doesn’t want people coming over—he’s terrified of anyone finding out and treating him like—like he’s helpless. But he’s afraid he really will be and—and he’ll need help with _everything_ , and everyone will have to know. I think the only reason he’s letting me tell you now is because he hopes you’ll help us hide it.”

“Hey, slow down,” Nick said, squeezing his hands. “Calm down, Boz. We’ll help any way we can, you know that.”

“I know. I just don’t know what you can do. I don’t know what to do myself.”

“Well, is there a timeframe?” Cody asked, searching for a base to start from. “How long will it be before he’s really—blind?”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure he can’t see the television from across the room. Sometimes, when all the lights are on and we’re sitting right beside each other, I think he can see my face. But the last time we were at Ray’s, he was sitting by the back door and I was standing five feet away with two other skinny, brown haired men, and he didn’t know which one I was. They didn’t notice, but I could tell he was looking at someone else. That was two weeks ago and it’s gotten worse since then.”

“So—pretty soon,” Nick said lamely.

“Another couple of weeks, we think. After that, he’ll probably still be able to see light for a while. And once that’s gone—well, we might not know for sure. There’s something in the human eye, so long as the eye itself isn’t damaged, that can sense light. He’ll probably always be able to find the sun and detect a light in a dark room, but he won’t be seeing it. I read that people who’ve been able to see all their lives—their brains get confused and they think they can still see just because they remember the light. I don’t want him to know that, though. I want him to hold onto whatever he can.”

“So what happens when he can’t see? Is he going to get a guide dog? Learn to read Braille?” Ever practical, Nick was thinking of ways to solve the problem while Cody was still stunned by the tragedy that had struck his friends.

“Right now he says no. Thankfully we both learned clock face directions in the Army and we’ve been practicing with that around the house.”

“Practicing?” Cody repeated.

“Yes. He takes off his glasses so that everything’s a blur and I guide him from room to room. It gives me a chance to work on remembering to use _his_ perspective, while he learns to trust me in a relatively safe environment.”

“Relatively?”

“Yesterday I accidentally said three o’clock when I meant nine and he fell over the coffee table. But no one saw so it doesn’t count.”

“Shit,” Nick said miserably. “Does that mean he’s never leaving the house again?”

“I hope not. He says he’ll go out when everyone already knows and he—he has some idea how to get around. But I don’t—I don’t know…” He burst into angry sobs, the first he had been able to shed in sympathetic company, and his friends moved in to hug him close.

“It’ll be okay,” Nick assured him while Cody silently rubbed his back. It had been a long time, but he was sure Murray’s ribs and the knobs of his spine had not been so prominent then.

After a long time, Murray pulled away and wiped his eyes with his hands. Cody pulled out a handkerchief for him to blow his nose.

“Thanks. I—I really love you guys.”

“We love you, too,” Cody said humbly. “So why didn’t you tell us sooner? How long have you known all this?”

“A few weeks. I went through a stupid denial phase, taking him to doctors and trying to stop it rather than deal with what was coming. I didn’t tell you because that would have—I don’t know. It would have been real if you knew.”

“Sure, that makes sense,” Nick said. He would have done the same.

“The only thing we’ve decided is that he’s going to start seeing an occupational therapist this week. She’ll teach him how to use a white cane and focus his hearing—things like that. He insists he’s too old to learn Braille, but he’s going to hire a tutor to come to the house and teach him touch typing.”

“But what about reading? Won’t he get bored with nothing to occupy his mind?” Cody tried to imagine losing his sight, giving up books and magazines and sunsets over the ocean, giving up running his own boat—and maybe even living on board—and discovered he’d rather be dead.

“Well, there’s the TV and radio. And he can get books on cassette from an organization for the blind. They have everything, even stuff that you normally can’t buy on tape. I’m going to read to him, too, so we can still talk about our books.”

“Is that enough?” Nick asked, though he hated himself for it.

“I don’t know. I hope so. Maybe if we do late surveillance jobs he could come along, just for the company.” Those were the only jobs Murray really worked as part of the team anymore. He did the computer work at home, often with his friends hanging over his shoulders, waiting for information they could run with while Murray stayed behind to do his own programming. It was convenient that he already had such a flexible schedule.

“Sure,” Nick said quickly. “Sure, of course. He could have come with us any time.”

“I know, but he didn’t want to. He might now. He really hates being alone at night.” Murray heard his own words and began to cry again. That his bold Lieutenant should be afraid of the dark, and that he should be here confessing that fear to men whose respect Ted had always wanted and doubted he had, made it all so devastatingly real.

“It’s okay,” Cody whispered, finally finding his voice when it was time for meaningless platitudes. “Murray, buddy, it’s gonna be okay. We’ll help, I promise, and he’ll be okay. We—we’ll take you guys out to eat, we’ll stay the night if you’re not getting enough sleep—whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” he sobbed, and kept repeating it until Nick placed a hand over his mouth.

***

Murray was dry-eyed and smiling when he picked Ted up again, and Ted’s failing eyesight concealed the signs of his tears.

“Did you have a good time?”

“Well, you know,” Ted shrugged. “At least it was manly. He didn’t cry or try to hug me or anything.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s good.”

Ted laughed and reached out cautiously to lay his hand on Murray’s thigh. Cautiously because he didn’t want to catch the gearshift, or overshoot and surprise him by grabbing his crotch. Murray didn’t need surprises when he was driving a stick.

“Baby, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“No, I know,” he said unconvincingly.

“Look, I know you wanted to tell Nick and Cody by yourself so you could cry and hug, and that’s fine for you. It’s not unmanly when you do it. They’re your best friends and that’s just how you guys are.” He paused and then added, still laughing, “You’re a bunch of girly men and I ain’t judging you. It’s just not my way.”

“Except with me.”

“Yeah, sometimes. But not anymore. Not over this. I’ve got a handle on it now.”

“Good. I’m so glad you’ve finally come to terms with—with this thing, so we can get busy preparing. You _are_ ready to get prepared, right?”

“Right. Get me a cane and the complete works of James Michener on audio tape and I’ll figure it out.”

“Oh, thank God. You don’t know how worried I’ve been about having to start all this when you couldn’t see at all. We can learn a lot in the next few weeks. I’ve been reading about how to mark things so you can tell what they are, and there are things we can get, like clocks and watches that you can read with your fingers.”

“I told you I ain’t learning Braille.”

“You don’t have to. It’s just something like two bumps at twelve, three, six, and nine o’clock, and one bump on the others. You just feel where the hands are pointing. The watches are the same, but they have flip-up covers over the faces. They’re totally boss.”

“I bet they are. But there’s another thing we need, and right away.”

“What’s that?”

“Another car. You been driving this thing for a year now and, baby, I love you more than anything, but you suck at it. Since you’re gonna be doing all the driving from now on, we need a car you can get along with.”

“I can get better, Ted. I’ll practice every chance I get. I know how much you love this car…”

“It’s not important,” he interrupted, as if he hadn’t wanted a ’66 Camaro since the fall of ’65. As if he hadn’t saved up for years, on a cop’s salary, to buy it just three years ago. Now that he would never drive it again—soon he wouldn’t even be able to see it—it had lost whatever meaning it used to have. He used to love it, but now all he could think about was Murray stalling out in the middle of a busy intersection and getting himself killed.

“Sam Boswell’s been wanting it ever since I got it painted. I’ll call him tomorrow and ask if he’s still interested. Then we’ll get your buddies to take us to a dealership and pick out something you feel comfortable in.”

“A dealership?”

“I won’t be able to help you fix it,” Ted reminded him. “You need something newer. More reliable.”

“I guess. But, Ted, you can’t sell your car.”

“Of course I can. It’s my car, remember. I can do whatever I want.”

The old tone of command had returned to his voice and it cheered Murray’s heart. Anyway, Ted wasn’t wrong. He would never be able to drive again, and the sound of Murray grinding the gears of his precious Camaro must be unbearable. It deserved to be with someone who would love it and care for it as he had. Murray, on the other hand, needed to be driving this year’s Ford Taurus. And the mint ’66 might even cover it. 

He rested his head against the window and waited for the trip to be over. The neighbors probably watched him hold Murray’s arm as they crossed the driveway—they probably guessed everything there was to know weeks ago—and it comforted him that he couldn’t see them looking. He kept his gaze fixed on the front of the house, watching it emerge from the blurry darkness, and tried to decide how much longer the roof would last.

The next time it was repaired, it would be someone else up there nailing down shingles. For the hundredth time, he wondered what Murray was going to need him for now that he couldn’t even work around the house.


	3. You Are Here With Me

“Murray? Murray, baby, wake up,” he said quietly, groping to the side for an arm or even a ribcage. He didn’t want to startle the poor kid—neither of them had been sleeping well and Murray startled easily—but he needed him to wake up. Now. “Murray?” he said again, raising his voice just a little.

“What? What is it?” Murray cried, leaping upright and nearly falling out of bed. His reaction was so extreme that, even though he’d been prepared for it, Ted flinched in sympathy. “What’s wrong?” he asked, more calmly now that he didn’t see any sign of a catastrophe.

“Baby, what time is it?”

“I don’t know. Hang on.” Murray put his glasses on and squinted at the digital clock on his side of the bed. Ted’s new clock, the one with a snap-on cover and bumps for numbers, stood on his nightstand, but he wasn’t in the habit of reaching for it yet. “Uh, about seven-thirty. Are you okay?”

“Seven-thirty?” he repeated faintly. “The sun’s up?”

“Yes, of course it’s—” He closed his mouth with a snap and reached out cautiously, wrapping his hand around Ted’s wrist.

“I can’t see, baby,” he said calmly. “This is it. I’m officially blind.”

“No. Oh, Lieutenant, n—”

“Stop. We already cried about it, kid. Now we gotta live with it.”

“Okay,” Murray said, choking slightly on the word and then clearing his throat. He was on top of it now. “What should we do first?”

“Same as every morning, I guess. Except I should probably start pissing sitting down.”

“Maybe in the beginning. Want me to join you in the shower?”

“I think you better. I still have trouble telling the soap and the shampoo apart.” Which was as close as he could get to saying _I’m scared to death and if you leave me alone in the dark, in a slippery bathtub, I don’t know what I’ll do_.

“Okay. You want your robe and slippers?”

Ted sat up and found his slippers by feel while Murray got his robe from the hook on the door. Ted almost got it on but the belt confused him and he had to wait for Murray to straighten it out and then submit to having it held for him. Once they had that figured out, he took Murray’s elbow in his right hand and held his left arm in front of himself and off to the side to feel for doorways and pieces of furniture. But Murray, whose rigorous practice had paid off, steered him so carefully around the living room obstacles that Ted never touched anything at all.

In the bathroom, Murray peed first and then washed his hands while Ted took his turn. He wasn’t overtly watching—nothing about this turned him on—but he wanted to spare Ted any trouble on his first official day of sightlessness. Just yesterday Ted had been able to see a wall a foot away and today his world was dark, the only break in the blackness a few streaks of meaningless memory-light.

Murray turned on the shower and got towels for them while Ted stood nervously by the sink. He adjusted the temperature the way Ted liked it, which was just a little too hot for himself.

“Hey, kid?” Ted called, his voice strangely hesitant.

“I’m right here.” Murray put his own glasses on the counter and gripped Ted’s hand. “Come on. It’ll be okay. Just take two steps. That’s great. One more step and you’ll be at the tub.”

He stepped forward bravely and his toe connected violently with the side of the tub.

“Oh, god _damn_ it,” he cried, hopping backward and throwing Murray off balance. Suddenly he was completely disoriented, not sure which direction he was facing or where to go to sit down. He couldn’t even look at it to assess the damage.

“Wait, calm down,” Murray ordered, frightened that Ted’s superior size and weight would get them both hurt. “Hold on, Lieutenant, just calm down.”

And his voice _was_ calming, Ted discovered. He heard the clap of the toilet lid closing and trusted that Murray was guiding him toward it. He sat down when he was told to and felt Murray lift his injured foot.

“It’s okay, right?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, it’s okay. The nail’s broken, but it’s not bleeding. I’ll cut it after our shower, when it’s nice and soft.”

Ted couldn’t help noticing the casual ease with which Murray accepted yet another small responsibility, one he hadn’t even thought of until this minute, and it made him feel clingy and scared. How would he manage if Murray went away?

“Are you okay now? Ready to try again?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get on with it before the hot water runs out.” But this time he walked with less confidence and always paused on his hurt foot while seeking out obstacles with his left big toe. Murray hated to see it, but, like a child who has just touched a hot stove for the first time, it was a necessary lesson in caution.

“Here’s the tub,” Murray said, a second before the searching toe encountered it. “Feel how high it is?”

“I know how high my own damn bathtub is,” Ted snapped, horribly embarrassed. But he didn’t, and it showed when he shifted his weight forward before he’d quite cleared the edge. For one endless second he waved there on a tightrope between standing and falling headfirst into the tub, and then Murray was steadying him with his hands, holding him until he could stand on his own. “Jesus, this is sad,” he muttered. He was acutely aware of himself as a naked, blind, old man, one of the most vulnerable creatures on God’s green earth, and wondered what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

“Come on, Lieutenant. Feel it with your hand; get oriented,” Murray said gently, all patience and encouragement. He was seeing something entirely different from what Ted imagined himself to be.

The respect in his voice (and couldn’t Ted imagine the expression on his face?), gave him the courage to bend his knees and feel for the rim of the tub. Then he straightened up and inched forward until he felt it against his lower legs. That was the thing that made it all fall into place. This _was_ his bathroom. This was his _house_. He knew where everything was—he just had to think. Or maybe not think so much.

Ted closed his eyes and released Murray’s arm to hold his hand instead. There. That felt more natural. He stepped up into the tub and wasn’t even surprised by the difference in height between its bottom and the floor. He turned around and backed against the wall, pulling Murray in after. The water was hot, the small room already filled with steam, and for a moment he could see it. Murray, half-blind without his glasses, warm and wet and sensuous, eager to give Ted whatever he might be in the mood for that morning. He could see it as plainly as he saw it a year ago, and if it was only in his mind, it was enough. 

Murray helped him just a little, reminding him which side of the shelf the shampoo was on and how to feel the difference between the bottles, and washed only his back for him. He didn’t need to be able to see to wash his hair or scrub his body. He even washed Murray’s back for him, his strong hands moving steadily but carefully, relearning the shape and contours of the body he thought he knew as well as his own. It was almost inevitable that he would drop the washcloth and let his hands wander freely, searching for the things that made Murray unique. The things that would let him recognize this body among a hundred. He found them in the curve of Murray’s hip, the raised, elongated scar where a botched appendectomy had become major surgery, the neat round mole on the back of his neck. The weight of his sac was comforting, and the sound he made as Ted stroked him erect was sweetly familiar.

He backed Murray against the wall, unaware of how much he was being guided, and pressed their bodies together eagerly. They hadn’t made love in almost a week—not since he realized he could no longer make out the details of Murray’s face—and now that all was lost, he was hungry for warmth and normalcy. He buried his face in the hollow of Murray’s shoulder and thrust into the softness of his belly, feeling his hard cock and knowing that Murray was slumping to even their heights. To let him dominate. And even if it was a gimme, Ted needed to dominate him. He’d been feeling weak and dependent for far too long.

But here was power. In Murray’s soft moans and grasping hands, the pleading way he arched his back and met Ted’s forceful thrusts. They were together in the dark. Ted was suddenly sure of that. Murray would never go off into the light and leave him alone. He bit the slender neck as he came and Murray, who had been aching for dominance, bucked against him, crying his name. 

***

“Hey, baby,” Ted said calmly, back in their room after his first official shower as a blind man. “How am I supposed to get dressed?”

“The same way you did yesterday,” Murray teased. He was kneeling on the floor, trimming Ted’s toenails with surprising efficiency. “You put your pants on one leg at a time.”

“Yesterday I had some idea where the drawer handles were. And the dresser.”

“The dresser’s by the door, where it’s always been. Socks and underwear on top, then shirts, then jeans, then slacks. Here, just take a minute and explore it. And while you’re doing that, I’ll try not to remind you that Sandy’s been saying for a month that you needed to practice doing things without looking.”

“And I won’t remind you that I wanted to look at everything while I could.”

“Fair enough. Here,” Murray said as he rose. He took Ted’s hand and guided it to the top drawer. “The pulls are all lined up, so you can go right down the line.”

“But how do I pick things out? I don’t know what any of it is.”

“It’s your clothes, Lieutenant. Open the top drawer and find a pair of socks. They’re all the same. And the underwear doesn’t matter. You like all of them and they won’t show. I’ll help you decide on a shirt and later we can rearrange them so you’ll know where the different colors are. And your jeans are all the same, too. It’ll be okay.”

“I guess,” he said vaguely. “But if I can’t remember, you’ll help me, right? You won’t let me go out dressed like—you?”

Murray couldn’t help laughing and Ted wondered if his soft eyes were sparkling with happiness or hurt. Or maybe they weren’t sparkling at all. The renewed understanding that he would never see those eyes again hit him like a punch in the solar plexus and he put his hand on the dresser so he wouldn’t fall down.

“What’s wrong, Lieutenant? What happened?”

“Nothing. Nothing, baby, I’m fine. I just—I’m gonna miss your face so much.”

“You’ll never forget me, Ted. And you won’t have to see me get old and gray. It has all the benefits of me dying young, without the botheration of me actually dying.”

“Jeez, you’re weird.” But they were both laughing again, and this time he was sure Murray’s eyes were dancing with joy. Now that he was hearing it, he realized that he’d always recognize that special sound.

“I know, but I’m going to make you a promise right now. I will never lie to you, Ted. Not even as a practical joke, not even on April Fools. I won’t get you clothes that I know you wouldn’t like, I won’t let you leave the house with your fly open or food in your teeth, and I won’t ever let anyone else do it, either. I won’t even give you food that you don’t like, just because it’s better for you. I’ll help you in any way I can, any way you want, and I won’t ever take advantage of your trust.”

“Yeah? No frozen yogurt instead of ice cream, or pink shirts and plaid pants?” he asked, mostly teasing.

“Exactly. I love you, Lieutenant, and I will never deliberately let you humiliate yourself.”

“Thank you,” he said, humbled now by Murray’s sincerity. “Think you can get your sister to say the same?”

“I’ll do my best, but with Baba there are no guarantees.”

“You can say that twice and mean it,” he said ruefully. Murray had made her promise once before, after she came into town for the weekend and he woke up duct taped to the bed, but it didn’t last. Just six months later she was back for Christmas, serving Ted eggnog from a dribble glass. “Now, can you find me those shorts you got me with the math symbols on them?” Even when Murray was by his side all day, Ted still felt closer to him while wearing math geek boxers. They were yellow and covered with symbols for Pi, infinity, greater and less than, equal, negatives, and variables to a range of powers—squared, cubed, and leaping through orders of magnitude. Ted understood a few of them and could solve some simple equations, but he didn’t want to know too much. Murray being the only one who could decipher the secrets of his underwear was as powerful a representation of their relationship as infinity itself.

Murray got the boxers and a pair of socks and guided him back to the bed to sit down and put them on. The socks were easy, although he put the first one on upside down and had to turn it over. With the second, he flattened it on his thigh and got the shape of the heel firmly in mind before rolling it in his hands and pulling it on. His first major triumph. There were a lot of things that sight made easier, but where it wasn’t actually required, and this was probably one of them.

“How about jeans and your green Izod?”

“Sounds good. Black loafers?”

“May as well match your belt.” Murray ran it through the belt loops and then handed the jeans to Ted, who examined them carefully with his fingertips. He figured out quickly that they were the same as before and stepped into them confidently, one leg at a time. The only difference was that he took extra time making sure his boxers were tucked in properly and double checking that he hit every button on his fly. He felt the shirt over just as carefully, finding the seams that proved it was right side out, and examining the collar and the three buttons at the throat. Still, he got it turned funny while putting it on and stuck one arm through the neck. Murray pulled it off, resolutely not laughing, and held it straight so he could try again. This time it went smoothly. Murray got his shoes from the rack on the back of the door, and then combed his hair for him—something else Ted would learn to do in time.

“I should have learned to get around the house, at least,” Ted muttered.

“You will in no time. Let me get dressed and we’ll go have breakfast.”

“You’re naked and I’m missing it.”

“You can imagine I’m naked all the time,” Murray reminded him, sitting down to put on his socks. Ted felt the mattress move and could tell to the half inch how far away he was. He reached over and grasped Murray’s thigh, just needing to be sure he was there. He felt bare skin and the thick curls of hair that covered Murray’s absurdly skinny legs, just below the hem of his boxers. He wondered if they were the mate of the pair he was wearing—Murray had them, too—and didn’t ask. Ted put his hand on Murray’s ribs and felt his arm lift away. He was pulling a t-shirt on over his head. Ted felt the material as it slid down Murray’s torso and ran his hand up to finger the collar. Narrow stitching, exposed collarbones, a little V that dipped down his chest without buttons. He trailed over Murray’s shoulder and down his arm; long sleeves that fell past his wrists to stop just shy of the first joint of his thumb. It was the 49ers shirt Ted bought him last summer when they went up to see a game. He’d gotten the extra-large because Murray had a thing now about his sleeves always covering his wrists.

“Are we doing something after breakfast?” he asked carefully. It seemed like Murray was trying to please him, and possibly dressing up. He’d know for sure when he found out what pants the kid was wearing.

“I think you should practice with your cane. And maybe we could go over to the pier and have lunch with the guys.”

“Lunch? Already?”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know if I can feed myself,” he said, his voice strained but somehow calm. “Do I have to try in front of people on the first day?”

“Not if you really don’t want to. But you can’t wait too long. If you keep putting it off, it’ll just be harder.”

“Tomorrow. I’ll go over there tomorrow, I promise. Today I just want to try to get around the house.”

“Okay. But you do need to work with your cane outside.”

“We’ll see. Maybe I could do the front steps.”

Murray patted his hand and got up, going to his dresser to get a pair of jeans. He buttoned the twenty-eight inch waist and cinched a belt around it to keep them up. A lot of people gained weight as they grew older, but Murray kept getting skinnier. He wondered if Ted would be able to continue nagging him about it, or if it he would stop noticing now.

Sandy, Ted’s occupational therapist, had advised against using the cane in his own home. He needed to learn to rely on his memory in familiar places; it would be easier in the long run than spending the rest of his life stubbing a five foot cane on every wall and piece of furniture. But as his sight faded, he’d clung to his bed and his sofa, letting Murray run and fetch for him most of the time and relying on his vision when he had to move from one place to the other. In spite of all Sandy’s efforts and Murray’s gentle reminders, he was terribly unprepared now for the journey from the bedroom to the kitchen.

“Maybe I should start with the cane inside. Just for the first could days,” he suggested almost timidly.

“You don’t need the cane. You’ve lived here for twenty years—you know where everything is.”

“I—I can’t. I can’t just stand up and walk not knowing what’s in front of me.”

“You did all right getting to the shower,” Murray reminded him.

“Because you were leading me. I didn’t have to do it alone.”

“And you’re not alone now. Hold out your left hand, love.”

He did and Murray took it, squeezed it tightly, and urged him with a gentle tug to rise.

“I’m not guiding you this time,” he said, “but I’m right here. I won’t let go. Just reach out and feel what’s around you. If you don’t find anything, take careful steps until you do.”

Ted flung his right arm out recklessly and was lucky that there wasn’t anything in reach. If there had been, he would have knocked it over and probably jammed a finger or two in the bargain. For a second he was terrified of the black emptiness that was all he could sense, and his hand clamped down painfully on Murray’s fingers, grinding the bones together. Murray winced but didn’t betray it by any movement. They stood still in that endless moment, Ted trembling and Murray waiting patiently for the reappearance of the courage that he knew to be in there. Then Ted took a cautious step forward, holding his right arm out, his hand at hip level, sweeping it carefully as Sandy had taught him. Murray was in front of him on his left, walking backward without exerting any pull, grounding him so he could find his way.

“This is the dresser, right? My dresser, because it’s short.”

“That’s right. Where do you want to go now?”

“I—if we’re going to the kitchen, I need the door. Left of the dresser,” he murmured, almost to himself. His hand skimmed swiftly across the surface and struck the wall behind it, jamming his finger after all. He cursed softly and his mind’s eye, still crystal clear, saw Murray biting his lip and trying not to laugh. He trailed his fingers along the wall until he felt the molding that made up the doorframe. He held onto it to keep himself oriented as he passed through and felt the larger space of the living room open around him.

“The recliner is here on the right, isn’t it?” he asked, gesturing vaguely in that direction.

“Two o’clock from where you’re standing. The coffee table is straight ahead, about five feet away, and the television is about four feet away, say ten o’clock.”

Ted moved forward slowly, focusing on the image of the room in his head. Murray was right—he knew this. Twenty years and he might have replaced the furniture, but he never changed the location. He calculated the distances Murray gave him and forged a cautious path between the TV and the coffee table. The kitchen started where the carpet stopped, and the scarred wood table was just inside the door. He felt the back of a chair and eased around it, running his hand over the seat twice to make absolutely certain of where it was. This would be the first time since his vision turned to shades of gray that he’d sat down on anything without Murray’s guiding hand on his back. He held his breath as he lowered himself onto the cushioned wood chair and let it out with a sigh when he didn’t fall.

Only then did he release Murray’s hand, surprised to find that it was hard to unclench his stiff fingers. How Murray’s fingers must feel, he wasn’t ready to consider.

“What’s next?” he asked, hitching the chair up to the table where he felt safer. More enclosed.

“Next you talk to me while I make our breakfast. You want coffee or tea?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“Coffee it is.” He pressed start on the Mr. Coffee that he’d set up last night and began getting food from the fridge. When the coffee was ready, he filled a cup to an inch below the rim, dropped in a sugar cube, and carried it to the table. He set it down to Ted’s right and told him it was at one o’clock. The casual way Ted picked it up and found the spoon handle resting against the edge made him smile and return to the stove with hope in his heart.


	4. The Light of Music

“Are you sure I’m dressed okay?” Ted asked one last time before Murray opened the door. “Did you comb my hair right?”

“You’re fine. You look just exactly like yourself.” That was true, except for one small thing. He already had his aviator shades on, which he normally wore only while driving or intimidating people. But Sandy had suggested he wear them whenever he went out, at least at first. Otherwise anyone he was talking to would be distracted by his seeming lack of focus, and he would always be wondering if they were staring at his blank eyes. Later, when he had his confidence back, he might very well find that he didn’t care and decide to go without.

But today, his first day of total blindness, he needed all the support he could get. He stood still, his cane gripped fiercely in his left hand, and felt the rush of warm, fresh air when the front door opened.

“Is there anyone outside?” he whispered. “Is anyone watching?”

“I don’t see anybody. Come on, Lieutenant, you can do this. Feel for the step. No one’s looking at you but me.”

He reached with the cane and found the drop from the doorsill to the little concrete pad that passed for a porch. It wasn’t far, and though he was secretly terrified, he extended one foot into space and took the chance. The concrete was there to meet him. It hadn’t moved and it didn’t try to buck him off. Standing with both feet on the tiny porch, heart racing, forehead beaded with sweat, he felt as if he’d climbed a mountain. But he wasn’t done yet.

He swept the porch with his cane, finding the bushes Murray had planted around it, and finally turning to the left to step down onto the ground. This time it was easier to make himself step off into space, and once he was there his adrenaline was up and he didn’t want the adventure to end.

“Maybe we should go over to the pier after all,” he said, his voice only shaking a little.

“Fine by me.” Murray had been hoping for just that reaction and had his keys in his pocket. He locked the front door and hopped excitedly off the porch. Ted heard him and held his right hand out. Murray took it in his right hand and wrapped it around his left elbow. The first thing they’d learned when Ted’s vision became poor enough to require he be guided at times was that the person requiring guidance hold onto the guide, not the other way around. Sandy showed Murray how both methods felt—being led versus being propelled—and he understood at once.

Now Ted held Murray’s elbow in his right hand, trusting him implicitly while exploring the environment in front of him and off to his left with the lightweight cane. The little boarder of shrubbery, the stone planter full of petunias that Murray nurtured until they streamed down over the pedestal like a waterfall and pooled around the base, and finally the garage door. He knew where he was just as Murray told him to turn right to go around the side of the car. 

Murray stopped him, opened the car door, and held his cane while he got in. It was collapsible and he folded it up before handing it to Ted.

“Can you get your seatbelt?”

“Maybe. Let me try.” He got hold of the shoulder harness and pulled it loosely across his body, but even while holding the buckle in his other hand, he couldn’t bring the two together. “What am I doing wrong, kid?”

“You got the hasp tilted too far to the right. Rock it over and it should go in.”

He struggled for almost half a minute, tempted every five seconds to stop and ask for help, but finally the hasp slipped in and he heard it click.

“Jeez, that wasn’t worth the trouble. You can do it next time,” he said with an embarrassed laugh. “And can you lock my door?”

“Sure thing. You remember where the handle is if you need to get out in a hurry?”

“Yeah, in front of the armrest. But you better not wreck us, baby. We still need to find a new car.”

“I won’t,” Murray said. He leaned in and kissed Ted softly before locking and closing the door. He walked around and got in behind the wheel, humming a melancholy tune. Ted started to ask if he was okay, worried that he was suddenly sad, and then felt Murray’s hand squeezing his thigh. “I sure do love you, Lieutenant. You won’t forget that, will you?”

“No, baby. I won’t forget.”

Murray started humming again and suddenly Ted recognized the song. He turned to the window, glad of the shades that hid his stinging eyes. Murray gave his leg another squeeze and then started the car.

***

“I ain’t too sure about this, now that I think about it.”

“Why not? You aren’t still worried about them watching you eat, are you? Because that’s just silly.”

“No, I don’t care about that,” he said, although he did a little. “I just suddenly remembered how narrow everything is down there. The pier and the gangways and everything. One misstep and I’m in the water.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Murray said carelessly. “Besides, you’ll have me on your right and your cane on your left. You’ll know where the edge is.”

“Yeah, but still…”

“Okay, we can’t go back now. The guys just came out and saw us. You don’t want them to think you chickened out, do you? Or should I call them up here? Then we could all walk down in a group and you’ll be safely surrounded. Would that be better?”

“No, that would not be better,” Ted snapped. “Just shut up and give me your damn elbow.”

Murray took Ted’s right hand in his right and wrapped it around his left elbow with a little pat. Only then did they cross the sidewalk and go through the gate to the gangway. Ted’s grip on his arm was paralyzing, desperate and sweaty and scared, but he walked upright, his head held high, his cane casually skimming over the boards, so no one watching would know he was afraid. Of course no one was watching, as he figured out when Murray guided him up the steps and over the rail, then opened the door and called for permission to board.

“Hey, I thought they saw us,” Ted hissed. “And you just promised this morning that you’d never take advantage of me.”

“I didn’t take advantage,” Murray said, hurt. “I just fibbed a little so—well, so you wouldn’t back out and hate yourself later. It wasn’t to embarrass you or—or anything.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said, although they wouldn’t. He’d heard Nick and Cody coming up from below and wanted to drop the whole thing. “Just don’t do it again.”

“I—I won’t, Lieutenant. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, look who’s here,” Nick said heartily and they turned toward his voice. “What are you doing, Quinlan? Did Murray finally talk you into practicing outside?”

“Yeah, sort of. I kept putting it off and putting it off, and then this morning I woke up blind as a bat. Figured it was time to get started.”

Murray saw their shocked faces and offered what he thought was help. “He’s exaggerating, really. He did a lot of work with Sandy when he first got the cane.”

“You’re—you’re really blind now?” Cody asked, unconsciously trying to catch Ted’s gaze through the dark glasses. It was the way Ted seemed to be focused on a point just between his shoulder and Nick’s that convinced him before anyone had a chance to answer. Ted Quinlan had never failed to meet his eyes before.

“We knew it was coming,” Quinlan shrugged. “Didn’t Murray tell you?”

“We haven’t talked to him for three or four days,” Nick said unhappily. “I guess we all thought there was more time.”

“Yeah, well, there wasn’t,” he said briskly. “Murray wanted me to get out of the house before I completely lost my nerve, and he said you’d feed us lunch.”

“Yes, absolutely.” Cody leapt on the opportunity to do something, anything, besides think about Ted’s tremendous loss and Murray’s obligation to deal with it. “Nick and I were just about to fry up some hamburgers. That okay?”

“Whatever you’re having’s fine. Mind if I sit down somewhere?”

“Sure, of course,” Nick said. “What’s your pleasure? Up here, in the galley, or out on deck?”

“Why don’t we try the galley?” Murray suggested. It would keep them all together, and in the small space, Ted could keep track of everyone more easily.

“Sure, but how am I supposed to get down there? This is one of those places that’s too cramped for a cane, isn’t it?”

“I think so. It’s okay, though. Hold my arm until we get to the stairs, and then put your hands on my shoulders. We’ll just take it one step at a time and it’ll be fine.”

Murray didn’t see the worried look that passed between Nick and Cody, although if he’d given it any thought, he’d have guessed they doubted him. They were his best friends, but they still doubted his ability to do anything that didn’t involve computers. Though they noticed how quick Ted was to fold his cane and hand it to Murray, who laid it on the bench by the door. They watched with something like awe as Murray tucked the broad, strong hand under his elbow and led him confidently across the salon to the forward stairs.

“Stop here,” he said quietly. “I’ll go down the first step and you hold my shoulders, however feels most comfortable, and we’ll take the next step together. You trust me?”

“I trust you.” Ted loosened his hold and let his hand trail up Murray’s arm as the taller man stepped down. He ran his fingers across Murray’s back and laid his palms on the bony shoulders. Murray moved to the next step and Ted followed, unafraid.

Nick and Cody waited until they were both in the galley before crowding down the stairs themselves. Ted was already sitting at the table, crowded back against the wall where he felt safest, Murray standing by protectively.

“Is there anything we can do?” Cody whispered, then immediately felt like a complete idiot.

“For who?” Ted asked loudly. “Are you talking about me? Because I can hear you just fine.”

“Ye—yeah, of—of course,” he stammered, and was selfishly glad that Ted couldn’t see him blush. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m just fucking with you. It’s weird for everyone.”

“No, no, it’s not weird,” Nick protested, trying to save what was left of Cody’s dignity. It was usually Murray who talked too much and said the wrong thing, and this sudden reversal of roles was possibly the weirdest part.

“Yeah, it is,” Ted told him with an unusually friendly grin. “We haven’t been hanging out much so you didn’t get to ease into it like we did.” As if he hadn’t been frozen with fear on his own front porch just an hour ago.

“We should’ve been around more,” Cody apologized. “We didn’t know it was going to be this fast.”

“No, don’t be sorry. Ain’t what I meant. Just—just don’t think about it. Nothing’s really changed, you know?”

“Still the same asshole you always were?” Nick laughed, then paused to see if Ted would laugh. If he didn’t, then it wasn’t true. Everything had changed. But he did laugh, and then he asked for a beer. That broke the tension and Nick spun around to get a can from the fridge. The tension returned abruptly when he held it out and Ted, naturally but still somehow unexpectedly, didn’t reach up and take it. Nick and Cody froze, and even Murray seemed momentarily at a loss. In the two seconds it took him to remember what to do, Ted cocked his head questioningly and broke their hearts.

“Guys? What’s going on? Did you all leave?”

“No, sorry,” Murray said quickly. “Nick’s trying to give you the beer. Just hold out your right hand and, Nick, you make sure it touches his palm so he gets a good grip.”

“Should I open it first?”

“No, give me a chance,” Ted answered cheerfully. “It’ll be my first pop-top.”

The three men watched in nervous wonder as he felt delicately over the top of the can and turned it to orient the tab. It was exactly the way a sighted person would do it—the way Ted must have done it a thousand times before—the only difference being that his movements were now cautious almost to the point of beauty. He pulled the tab up with his fingertips, covering the mouth of the can with his thumb so it wouldn’t splash.

“Very nice,” Murray said, genuinely pleased. “Are you sure you haven’t been practicing?”

“When have I had a chance to do anything for myself?”

Everyone laughed at that and Murray finally sat down beside Ted. Only then did his friends realize how tense he had been, waiting to see how this would go. Nick gave him a beer and a comforting pat on the shoulder, which earned him a grateful smile. Then Ted asked what was going on in their lives, and they talked about cases and pier gossip while Nick fried the hamburgers and Cody made potato salad. By the time the food was on the table, the two of them had already forgotten.

It was somehow worse than the beer can hesitation, precisely because they all thought they were past it. But when Murray asked for a sharp knife and proceeded to cut Ted’s hamburger in half before passing it over, their friends were silenced once again. Then he took a fork, slipped it into Ted’s right hand, and guided it over the plate, lightly touching the food with the points.

“Your potato salad is on the left, from eight to ten, and your burger is here at three, cut vertically from north to south.”

“Thanks, baby. Did you pepper the potato salad?”

“Cody did.”

“Thanks,” he said again, turning his head this time so they were all included. Nick set a plate in front of Murray and then he and Cody sat down across from them.

“Nick’s beer is six inches away from your plate at about ten o’clock,” Murray said softly as Ted shifted his fork to his left hand and scooped up some potato salad.

“Should I move it?”

“No, Nick, it’s fine so long as he knows where it is. The table is small so he has to watch out for obstacles.”

Nick and Cody both winced, sneaking glances at Ted to see if he was bothered by the phrase. But Ted just swallowed his potato salad and washed it down with a drink.

Murray understood and smiled. “When he said to ignore it, he meant to talk like you always do. You can still say _watch out_ , and _do you see what I mean_. No one takes those phrases literally.”

“I sure never did,” Ted shrugged, setting down his fork and carefully lifting half his hamburger. He was glad Murray had shown him where it was and explained precisely how it was cut. It fit neatly in his hand and the cut edge made it easier to bite. After a minute even Cody forgot that he couldn’t see.

***

After they ate, Ted wanted to go out on deck and enjoy the sun. He hadn’t done that lately because he didn’t like the feeling that the neighborhood people might be staring. There was a neighborhood here, too, and these neighbors would stare as well, but he didn’t think he’d mind so much with Nick and Cody nearby. He’d never felt as if they were protecting him before—although they probably had at some point over the eight years that he’d been involved with their friend. But he knew to a certainty that they _would_. Not that Murray wouldn’t, but Nick and Cody would actually win.

Going upstairs wasn’t as difficult or dangerous, and Ted made the climb up to the salon by holding Murray’s hand in one hand and the safety rail in the other. He believed if they visited here enough, he would eventually be able to go up and down by himself. That was a happy thought and he smiled to himself as Murray guided him across the salon, out the door, and over to a sunny spot on the stern bench. Cody followed with three more beers and a glass of water for Murray, who still had to drive.

They sat there for an hour, and neighbors did come over. It was difficult for Ted not to cling to Murray’s hand, especially when he heard a new voice that he couldn’t place right away. But while a lot of people speculated as to why the two of them were _really_ living together, no one actually asked and they were not considered out. But he was blind now, vulnerable and insecure, so if he did occasionally reach over and touch the hand or knee of the one person he understandably trusted above all others, that was only to be expected. No one could question his need to reassure himself that his guide was still there.

When the last person had left and they were alone, however temporarily, Quinlan said that he was tired and wanted to go home. Murray excused himself to use the head first, and that was the only real moment of awkwardness. No one quite knew what to say with him gone, and Ted became more acutely aware of his position with nowhere to turn his attention and no way of following Murray down below. Finally, Nick broke the silence.

“How are you doing, really?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you putting on a brave face for Murray, or are you really this calm about—everything?”

“Six of one,” he shrugged, but there was a catch in his voice.

“Yeah?” Cody prodded gently.

“I can be brave when he’s around. He makes it okay. But when he leaves the room, the world stops spinning until he comes back.”

 _Jesus_ , Nick mouthed silently. Cody just nodded.

“Never thought you’d hear me say something like that, did you? Well, fuck it. I can’t see what you’re thinking and I’m entitled to be honest.”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Cody insisted. “You go ahead and say whatever you want. You always have.”

“That’s true, isn’t it? Well, while I’m being honest, I appreciate all the support. For Murray, too. You’ve been good friends to us, letting him work from home, bringing over food he can’t resist…” He trailed off for a moment and they knew that if he could see he’d be staring off into the distance. “You’ll keep an eye on him for me, right? Tell me if he’s getting too skinny or—or pale or something. You know, I can’t watch him anymore to make sure he eats.”

“Sure we will, no problem,” Cody promised while Nick sat beside him looking stricken. After a moment he gathered himself enough to offer Ted another beer.

“Thanks, but I better not. My balance is still a little iffy. You’d be surprised how much of it is based on visual orientation.”

“I bet Murray finds that fascinating,” Nick said and everyone laughed.

“What do I find fascinating?” Murray asked, stepping out on deck.

“Everything, baby. That’s why I love you.”

Murray kissed him instead of calling him a liar and let the matter drop.

***

They didn’t stay much longer. Ted was beginning to be anxious about the possibility that people he couldn’t see were staring at him and wanted to be inside his own house. Nick and Cody followed them up the gangway, keeping up casual conversation while Murray guided Ted, who carefully monitored the boards with his cane. Murray had always led him straight and true, but he still liked to be sure.

He also knew that the guys were accompanying them because they didn’t trust Murray as much as he did. But it didn’t offend him, and he found that he kind of liked listening to them talk. But he liked it better when he and Murray were in the car alone, the doors locked, easing down the street at the snail’s pace Murray preferred when driving Ted’s beautiful classic Camaro. 

“There’s some kind of commotion up ahead,” Murray told him as he came to a stop in the street. “I think it’s an accident.”

“Glad I don’t have to help clean it up,” was Ted’s only comment. Then, after a moment, he began to hum the song that Murray had been humming when they left the house that morning. Murray reached over and took his hand, holding it comfortably between the seats. Softly, he began to sing.

“ _I'm very scared for this world,  
I'm very scared for me.   
Eviscerate your memory.   
Here's a scene:   
You're in the back seat laying down,   
the windows wrap around to the sound   
of the travel and the engine.  
All you hear is time stand still in travel,   
and feel such peace and absolute;   
the stillness still that doesn't end,  
but slowly drifts into sleep.   
The stars are the greatest thing   
you've ever seen   
and they're there for you.   
For you alone;   
you are the everything._”

Ted suddenly stopped humming and Murray faltered, blushing as the words he’d sung so glibly sunk in.

“The stars aren’t for me anymore,” Ted said, sounding uncommonly, sorrowfully, philosophical.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, I don’t mean that. I like the song. I even like when you sing it,” he added, hoping to provoke a smile even if he couldn’t see it. “But I’m not the everything in this relationship anymore, if I ever was. The stars are for you now. I’m the one laying down and listening to the sounds of travel.”

“No, Ted. The stars are for both of us. I’ll just have to describe them to you now.”

“Okay, baby. You do that.” Traffic began to move again and Ted, whose voice wasn’t as sweet as Murray’s but was better than one would expect, picked up the second verse and Murray joined in. They both switched the gender pronouns and sang it through twice before they got home.


End file.
